Erin the Muggle and the Deatheaters' Curse
by soymaid
Summary: What's this? A muggle at Hogwarts! Mary-Sue? Good god, no! Erin Hightower encounters a new world she never knew existed -- Neville is there to meet her, Dumbledore to greet her... and the Malfoys to give her a proper welcome. Please R&R this is my first!
1. Chapter the First

"No!"

            There was silence for a moment, as the wizard pacing before her ceased his muttered explanation, turning to stare in surprise at her seated form. "'No'?" He inquired blankly.

            "You can't… please… I don't know who you all are, and how you could do the things I saw you do, but, I swear, I'll never tell a soul, I just—" feeling enormously self-conscious, she paused and glanced around at the troubled faces in every direction, less than perfectly visible in the dim room. A wrinkled, grandmotherly old woman; a somewhat younger man looking very presidential, another tall man with piercing dark green eyes, that reminded her of last night and… she shuddered slightly.

            "Why in heavens not? You family no longer has any memory of the incident, your parents, brothers – all would think you mad if you attempt to explain. In time, you would even doubt your own sanity. My dear," he placed his hand comfortingly on her back "it is a painful memory you do not have to live with. Already, you…" he trailed off. The girl, slender body ramrod straight in the wooden chair, deep purple eyes and small mouth stubbornly still, did not seem to be of a mind to change her position. 

            "Please, I," she cleared her throat and smoothed black hair, swallowing and blinking, the unmistakable beginnings of a rather awkward show of emotion, "I can't; please don't… I, it's too precious to me. I believe," she looked up, took a deep, confident breath, and spoke firmly "I believe in the truth. I value it... almost above all else. I won't, I mean, I couldn't even, there isn't – just please, let me keep it. Let it slip by -- just this once." His hand raised from her shoulder to his own lips as he pondered her request. Everyone else seemed, well, just taken aback. 

            "Enough of this." The bureaucracy of it all seemed to be too much for the man with the green eyes. "Let's do it and have done! She is what she is!" he pointed a stick at her, and Erin was afraid she might feel pain, like before, but he only uttered a few syllables, "Obliv-"

            "Mr. Venefice!" interrupted the grandmotherly woman, who seemed to be able to summon any amount of fearsome authority instantly. "We have not yet deliberated! Put that down!" Face tight with resentment, Mr. Venefice resumed his seat. Erin shivered, wondering what he was about to do… hahah, "to do", that rhymed, too doo, tu du… she shook her head to clear it, and lucidity returned. She returned her attention to the elderly man waiting to give his response.

            "My dear," the epithet began to grate on her nerves, "we cannot simply let you go back into the mug- back into your world with the memories you now possess. The consequences of your knowledge, why, the scandal alone would… I regret to say, it is quite impossible."

            Her already pale face whitened, and her breathing began to pick up as she fought down panic, casting about for anything, "Well, if I can't go back to, to where I was, then perhaps I could, I could – stay with… all of you!" Eyebrows shot upwards. Even the white-bearded wizard now in conversation with her coughed in surprise. 

            "I'm not sure that is a sacrifice you could – a sacrifice you *should* be willing to make. After all, your family, your home…" He was clearly uneasy at this new turn; he didn't even catch her wince at the word "home".

            "Please." She stared directly into his eyes, "I beg you. Don't hide the truth from me, that part of the truth I already know. Don't change me… don't change me." His beard twitched as he pursed his lips, unsure of himself. His eyes closed, and his eyeballs twitched wildly in their sockets. Taken aback herself, she could only stare in bewilderment. His eyes opened, and he sighed faintly before he spoke again.

            "What you are asking involves leaving your home," her mouth twitched faintly again, "and family without a word, and never returning – attending, instead of your own mu- muggle school," he clearly only spoke the word to her reluctantly, "a school of magic, populated by pupils and teachers with that same gift, whose adequacy for your needs you will have to take on faith only. You would never," he eyed her significantly "be able to return to your old life, or speak to anyone you have ever known. You would be under constant supervision, and an object of curiosity, seen as inadequate with your lack of any magical gift. This" he stared directly into her eyes, emphasizing the importance of his statement, "has never been done before."

            She took a moment, chin resting on her fist, to weigh her decision carefully, forcing herself to think reasonably even while she could scarcely believe the word trumpeting in her brain: MAGIC! He said, a school of MAGIC!! I _knew it must exist! I KNEW it! She forced her thoughts to this terrible risk, to her life thus far. The exercise, she knew, was futile. Erin Hightower, the youngest in her family, the quiet, bookish… the one who would never take risks, had only (she thought grimly) one possible decision. Steeling herself, she raised her head to meet his gaze, and nodded._


	2. Chapter the Second

            Her trunk was sure to be the heaviest of anyone's, she thought pessimistically. This was because she had been afforded an opportunity shared by none of her fellow students – most of her shopping had been done in the normal... no, "muggle" world. Advised that electronic gadgetry would not work where she was going, she was forced to abandon the idea of bringing along a CD player or even, as had been her original intention, an handheld television. Instead, in addition to her textbooks, cauldron, scales, broomstick, telescope and robes, she was hauling many of the same things one might bring on a hike: snacks, a pocketknife, and (typical perhaps only to her) quite the assortment of books, fiction and even a few textbooks (she loved reading math textbooks) with which to occupy herself during her free time. Now that it came to it, she was rather unsure how much free time she was going to have at a school of – her heart skipped a beat – magic.

            Diagon Alley had been her first real taste of all the culture that could be so creatively hidden beneath the collective nose of muggle society. McGonagall had sniffed at the necessity of entering through such an "establishment", as she put it sourly, as the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, Erin kept close as she bought what she needed, chose her cat, and was fitted for robes. Since Erin had no wizard money, and for that matter little muggle money to speak of, the school supplied her with the basics – but she thought she heard McGonagall speak to the clerk at Madame Malkin's in hushed tones, and Erin's robes seemed to her a bit nicer than the rest of her things.

            Since only a fraction of the curriculum would even be applicable to her, she was allowed to skip certain classes (charms, transfiguration, etc) altogether, which would allow her an accelerated course schedule somewhat comparable to the third-years. (Since this was appropriate to her age as well, and approved by an apparently influential figure by the name of Fudge, nobody else was about to object.) She smiled – magic or muggle, politics were politics. As someone who'd taken particular interest in political science herself (indeed, Machiavelli was among those stashed in her hefty luggage), she should know.

            McGonagall, the woman entrusted with her care for her ability to keep a level head, allowed Erin a moment in thought before marching her to the space between platforms nine and ten. Trains whizzed by both, without so much as a glance from the woman. Erin had to wonder what was going on. When it was explained to her, however, she couldn't help but feel a little disbelief. The barrier, after all, looked so solid… when she reached out to touch it, however, her fingers met with… a brick wall. Erin thanked her stars she hadn't taken it at a run, as the professor had advised her to. She looked up questioningly. McGonagall's lips were pursed in vexation.

            "Perhaps if you were connected to me…" Erin said hesitantly. The stern expression became one of surprise, then respect, at this offering. McGonagall nodded briskly, muttered something equally no-nonsense, and grabbed Erin's right hand with her left as she passed through the barrier. When her left hand disappeared into the grimy brick, Erin's fingers, entwined in those of the older woman, went with it. Erin herself followed hastily, too relieved to be as awed as she imagined she would be. 

            A shining scarlet train, decked out in antiquated style with smokestacks and all, was the first thing to catch her eye. It was emblazoned with the word 'Hogwarts' in large, glistening black letters on the side. Apart from this, the platform could easily have been in a regular – a muggle – station (a station in which, by bizarre coincidence, everyone had decided to see their children off in black wizarding robes); there were tearful partings (on the parts of the parents, anyway), eager faces, and – another oddity – an array of owls, cats and toads, each on the shoulder of a young person, or alternately, resting sedately on a perch in a large, cylindrical cage. Swallowing last-minute panic, she extended a solemn hand to McGonagall, her caretaker for the past two days, breaking the mood when she grinned (partially to quell the doubt in her stomach). The stern Professor smiled kindly back, and Erin regretted that the woman would never teach her. Breathing deeply and rather too quickly, she boarded the train. She hoped fervently for a good new chance at things, a satisfactory life for herself. With such an absolute break from her last life, she had gambled a lot on this new one being worth it. 

            The train swayed a bit, and she almost tripped. Deciding that any compartment would do as long as she could get off her feet, she opened the door of the nearest one, clumsily shoved her trunk through and into the booth, and sat down.

            She was not alone.


	3. Chapter the Third

A/N: Hello, all. Please enjoy my story – or at least attempt to. Or just read it and laugh at it – it's all good really. In that vein, flames are accepted, praise would be nice, but constructive criticism is what I yearn for! Review, review, for all are welcome!

            She sat across from a rather pale, slightly pudgy young fellow whose hesitant smile spoke of a precarious social status. His demeanor spoke to her of clumsiness, and she empathized – and of forgetfulness, which made her even more sympathetic. Feeling a bit better for this observation, she smiled bravely back. Seeming emboldened by this, he extended his hand and introduced himself.

            "Neville Longbottom, third year." He said, his voice still quiet with residual shyness. 

            "Erin Hightower." she reciprocated, feeling rather relieved. "Actually, I'm – kind of – a third-year, too."

            "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

            "I mean, my curriculum is kind a third-year one, and—no, I didn't transfer, well I suppose I did" she answered his question before he voiced it, "But not how you'd expect--" embarrassed by this babbling explanation, she decided to go with the most pertinent detail first. "I'm…" she was suddenly desperately afraid for this, her first friendship, "I'm a, a.. muggle." He stared at her in incredulous amazement.

            "A _what?!_" he demanded, astonished. "Then…" he frowned in confusion, "why on earth are you _here?"_

            She sighed, realizing with dread the certain necessity of repeating her story many times in the near future, and explained herself, then glanced up anxiously to observe his reaction.

            "Wow!" he was clearly impressed. She grinned, so much relieved tension in the past few minutes making her almost light-headed. "You convinced them to let you keep the memory! How'd you ever manage that?" 

            "I don't really know." She answered truthfully. "I guess I was just, I dunno, really sincere, and they didn't have the heart. I mean, I was willing to," she paused for a moment, trying to put it some way that wouldn't make her sound like a martyr "to change my life around and all, so they thought I was, I was really set on it." Neville gave an impressed "huh!" and sat back, thoughtful and (surprisingly, given her choppy explanation) not at all disbelieving.

            No sooner was this initial obstacle out of the way than the door opened again, and three more people barged into the booth. A rather bushy-haired girl led the trio, followed by a gangly redheaded boy and finally a slender youth with dark hair, round eyeglasses, a peculiar mark on his forehead, and the air of something special about him. She smiled at them, nervous again, but boosted by her earlier success.

            "Erin Hightower." Her voiced even sounded sort of confident (she congratulated herself). She stuck out her hand, shaking each proffered hand in turn, as the newcomers identified themselves.

            "Hermione Granger." 

            "Ron Weasley."

            "Harry Potter." Hermione and Ron looked at her, expecting something. Even Harry didn't seem as casual anymore. Starting to feel self-conscious again, she opened her mouth…

            "I'm sorry." She began, "I'm new here. Are you… famous or something?" The three stared at her, stunned. Neville made a noise like "urm", and they turned towards him.

            "Harry, she's a, um, a muggle." If possible, the amazed expressions grew even more wide-eyed at this. With all eyes on her, Erin couldn't help but blush self-consciously. There was a moment of horrible silence.

            Suddenly and without warning, Hermione beamed. "Refreshing, isn't it?" she asked of Harry. He slowly grinned, and Ron looked pleased as well. 

            "Yeah!" Harry chuckled. Erin gave them a tentative smile herself. Neville, bursting with information, gave in and… well, burst.

            "She doesn't know you, or who you are, or anything about Hogwarts, or even You-Know-Who, Harry!" he said, taking obviously delight in imparting privileged information. "She was one of those muggles at the tournaments this summer, who got..." his smile faded "who got played with when the Death Eaters pulled those pranks." He spoke the word with distaste. 

            "You mean when they made dragons appear, and attack the…" Ron trailed off, appalled. "Then... why is she here?"

            "I have a real problem with altering memories." It was almost a declaration. "It's kind of a moral objection, you know, truth is the most important thing and all." She spoke casually to take weight from her words. "Truth is, I'd rather do almost anything than have my memory erased, even… or especially… one I shouldn't have had in the first place." She abandoned her casual tone, and spoke this last bit with the seriousness it deserved. The mood in the cabin was reserved. Rarely were statements of such gravity spoken on the train ride to school.

            Erin felt familiar panic rising, and busied herself with fishing a robe out of her trunk to put on over her muggle clothing (her garb was rather conservative; almost a uniform in itself, in fact). She vanished beneath a pile of black cloth for a few moments before it slid on and settled around her shoulders, her arms finding their way out through the sides. She pulled her hair free, grinning companionably, and finally things seemed to have settled down. Harry quickly engaged Hermione in conversation by recalling that Ron's dad (who worked at a "Ministry") had mentioned something about this, and Neville quickly joined in. Erin, noticing Ron's silence, asked him what sort of a sport Quidditch was. At this, a light seemed to turn itself onto his face, and he gave no less a grin than Harry's earlier, after Neville had explained her origins.

            "Oh, it's great! See, there are four balls – the quaffle, the bludgers, and the snitch. The chasers try to put the quaffle through the other team's hoops – that's scoring – and the keeper tries to protect the hoops, and hit the quaffle away from his. Meanwhile, the beaters go around trying to hit the bludgers at everyone – the chaser, the keeper, other beaters (on the other team, of course) and even the seeker. On top of that, the seeker from each team is trying to find the golden snitch – it's really small, see, and super fast – and whoever gets it gets 150 points, and the game ends! It's wicked, it is! I'm on the Gryffindor team." He added proudly. "I'm keeper. Me sister, Ginny, she's a chaser, and Harry here is _seeker, and he's really good at it!"_

            Erin, who had barely been following this whirlwind explanation, nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling with interest. Harry muttered something along the lines of "You're really good too, Ron," but Ron wasn't really paying attention. He was preoccupied noticing how he had never seen eyes so deep purple; how, come to think of it, he had never actually seen purple eyes… especially not with such raven-black hair…

            Erin for her part smiled shyly, amused at his earnestness and genuine emotion…

            The door slid open, to reveal a pale, blond boy wearing a smirk of disdain. Ron's expression changed to one of disgust as Ron's blue eyes locked with two of cold silver. 

                        "Weasel, Potty, Mudblood," he nodded to each in turn, in a parody of cordiality, before turning to Neville and Erin with a grin that bared his teeth. "Neville…" he said, doing his best to sound like a sympathetic parent and failing, "what have you forgotten this time? That third-years don't mix with first-years?" he barely wasted a glance on Erin, but did a double-take when her eyes flashed in the light. "Well, well… what's with the eyes, mutant?"

            Ignoring this, she extended her hand, carefully formal. "Erin Hightower." She gave a smile steeped in dislike. His pale face looked revolted.

            "Ugh! The _muggle_! My dad's heard about _you. Just because you got into by… well, I don't know, exactly," he took this opportunity to leer at her "Doesn't mean you're worth shining pureblood shoes." Showing only her surprise, concealing the slight nausea provoked by this remark, Erin could say nothing._

            Luckily, she didn't have to. "At least **she's** here because of herself. Convincing the Ministry to let a muggle in is one step up from paying them to let your prat of a kid in, don't you think?" Erin smiled gratefully at Hermione, as the blond boy made a face and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Ron grinned at Hermione appreciatively; she returned it with pride.

            "Thanks. Who was he?"

            "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. He's like that _all the time." Harry sighed. Neville nodded confirmation, a resigned expression on his face. Erin wrinkled her nose._

            "I've got an approach for people like him." Erin's manner was offhand. "He doesn't stand a chance." They looked at her, intrigued. "When someone is taunting you, you just notice how stupid they sound. It's really funny. Plus, when you laugh, it gets them way mad." She smiled mischievously. "I used to do that at school, with these two boys, Robert and Henry. I always acted like they were trying to be nice to me, but they just said it the wrong way. After a few days, they'd run at the sight of me. It was great. 'Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.' That's Oscar Wilde." They shared a laugh. Erin felt the happiest she could ever remember being.


	4. Chapter the Fourth

A/N: Is anyone reading this? Oh well, I must press on. Oh goodness, I forgot: all characters except Erin belong to JK Rowling, although rumors are Tom Felton is going to the highest bidder…

The train slowed, and stopped with a lengthy whistle. A look of confusion appeared on her face when her friends all got up to leave, and she followed them, not knowing what else to do. A powerful voice was shouting "first-years!" (although it sounded more like "firs' years!"). As she climbed (and almost fell) down onto the platform, she connected this voice with an equally powerful-looking figure. He was the largest man she had ever seen! His beard was as long as her hair, and it covered only his chest! She could only gape at him. When he turned to look at her, she couldn't help but flinch a little. 

"Hello," she found her voice at last. "Should I…?" 

"Rubeus Hagrid," he replied. This seemed an incomprehensible reply until he stuck out his bear-paw of a hand. She took it.

"Erin, Erin Hightower." She relaxed a bit as he gave her hand the gentlest of tugs. The man was aware of his strength. Too soon, however – he paused, mid-shake, looking stunned. 

"The muggle!" his voice carried, and many people turned to stare.

"Ye-yes," she stuttered, frightfully embarrassed. He seemed to recover, then turned away, al business once again. 

"Well then, righ' this way with the firs' years." Eyes to the ground, she followed, glad to get away from so many inquiring stares. Though it was not yet time for supper, it was already getting dark. As she saw the first-years climb into boats lined up along the dock, she was grateful for the light remaining. She chose the last boat for herself. Hagrid, she noticed with guilty relief, did not choose her boat; she was significantly bigger than the first-years, and wasn't sure a single boat could support them both. Instead, a young redhead slid in across from her, and on Hagrid's command the boats began to slip easily through the water. 

Orange and pink from the setting sun, the spires and towers of Hogwarts were breathtaking. Erin dipped her fingers in the water. Here, between the lake and the sky, she didn't feel so out of place. In a quiet mood, she almost reached for a book of poetry (Wallace Stevens would fit here best) before realizing that her bags were still on the platform. Since everyone else had left them there, she had done so as well without thought.

"Our bags – they're still at the station!" she exclaimed in alarm.

The slight girl smiled. "No, they'll be waiting for us at our bunks. Ginny Weasley." Erin smiled reassuringly, despite having less knowledge of her situation than Ginny apparently did. 

"I'm Erin Hightower. I think I met your brother, or cousin or something."

"No, he's my brother. Was he with – with Harry?" Erin was puzzled by the question – her confusion was resolved when she noticed how earnest and hopeful the girl looked. Erin smiled before she could stop herself, then quickly stifled it.

"Yeah, and Hermione. They're good friends, aren't they?" 

"Oh, yeah! They've been friends since their first year! In fact, Ron helped Harry when he took on You-Know-Who in his first year, to prevent him getting the Sorcerer's Stone, and second year… well, actually, *I* was kind of there his second year, my first, but I was possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so I missed a lot of it," she did not seem overly distressed by her ordeal, "and this year, who knows! In case you're wondering, I'm going by boat again because there wasn't room in the carriages…"

"Carriages?" Erin repeated stupidly.

"Well, in case you didn't notice, only the first-years are out here on the lake, you know, everyone else already has their first impression, so we're already as impressed as they want us to be. Are you… are you a first-year?" 

"No, actually. I'm… I'm a muggle." Ginny's jaw dropped, and it was a moment before she had the presence of mind to snap it shut.

"Huh?" she managed weakly.

"I'm a muggle who saw something I shouldn't have, and I'm here because I convinced them, you know, not to just make me forget it." She looked at the water for a few moments, and licked her lips nervously. "Um, as long as we're on the subject… who exactly _is_ 'You-Know-Who'?" 

Ginny recovered somewhat at the chance to extol the bravery and heroics of Harry Potter, and gave a quick, confusing summary: "You-Know-Who is Voldemort" she whispered this last word, fear and loathing evident in her voice, "and he tried to kill Harry when he was a baby – that's where Harry has his scar from, you see. Harry's the only one to ever survive when You-Know-Who wants 'em dead, and actually, Harry drove You-Know-Who into hiding – well, everyone thought he was dead, but turns out he's not, so Harry went and fought him again, a couple more times, but he's still on the loose. Harry almost got him the last time, too." She said, anxious to be believed.

Erin nodded, grave in sympathy. They reached shore (a kind of fjord, with a strip of land under the cliff upon which Hogwarts rested), and the smooth slipping of water was replaced by the grinding of dirt and grass. She climbed out, with a little help from Ginny – honestly, she berated herself, you are so clumsy! By the time they reached the entranceway into the grand old edifice, her robes were hopelessly muddied below the knee. She pursed her lips, reminding herself that at least her unfamiliarity with wizard clothing excused this. Partially.

Into the great hall, and she could only gape.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

There was no ceiling! Rather, the sky seemed to have lowered itself to serve as one. Dark clouds hovered, yet somehow gave light. Fat drops of rain formed, yet never reached the students below. She could only stare until it occurred to her that the clouds were not very thick. In fact… was that a glimpse of a golden ceiling she could see through them? And that, floating amongst the oppressive clouds – a rafter? She smiled slightly, suddenly deliriously happy. Only here! This place was positively miraculous! An acid voice cut sharply into her thoughts.

"Never seen anything like this before, have you… Muggle?" Malfoy. Acting on time-tested instinct, she beamed at the crowd (now staring in shock at her) and waved like the Queen Mum herself. Out of the corner of her mouth, she softly confided to Ginny, "A celebrity already! Won't this be fun?" Her heart was pounding in desperation at the stony silence, but she kept up with the smile routine, biting the insides of her cheeks until they started to hurt. Thankfully, a few Gryffindors inspired the rest to applaud, and the silence at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables at least melted into excited whispers. She smiled graciously, her waving hand obviously imitating the old queen, and there were some titters from those not cheering already. The conspicuous silence of Slytherin table did not prevent Erin from flashing Malfoy an impudent wink. Ushered back into the crowd behind a few first-year boys already taller than she, she breathed deeply to slow her heart, shaken by the incident. At least she wouldn't have to keep explaining herself now; it was probably worth it. Her hands were shaking. Ginny, in the hubbub ensuing, had reclaimed her spot as Gryffindor; there was an expectant hush as McGonagall placed a very old, very battered-looking hat onto a stool. Confused, Erin shifted to get a better view. A slit opened in the hat that actually kind of looked like a mouth – but no, just because this – and it sang!

_When first four powers joined, there_

_Was no way they could know_

_How fine Hogwarts would soon become,_

_How famous it would grow!_

_They only had their wands and brooms_

_And books and silly dreams!_

_And looking back, all I  say is_

_How stirring it all seems!_

_For Slytherin would only care_

_To teach whose blood was pure,_

_And Gryffindor put faith in those_

_Whose boldness was assured._

_Yet Ravenclaw was interested _

_In keenness of the mind,_

_And Hufflepuff asked only that_

_They be both trusty and kind!_

_Oh, how those four discussed and yelled,_

_'tis just for me to know!_

_And in the end, one did decide_

_That he would have to go!_

_Oh, Slytherin, who could not let_

_Their differences alone --_

_ He just took off, and went away,_

_In search of myths unknown.___

_Yet see, what greatness still exists!_

_Yet see what time has wrought!_

_And know that only faith could bring_

_The wonders these have brought!_

_When first four powers joined, there_

_Was no way they could know_

_How dreams would raise themselves up high,_

_And ever stir the soul!_

The students and teachers applauded wildly at this, and the Sorting began.

McGonagall clearly read a name of a long parchment she held in front of her. The unlucky exemplar walked as quickly as he comfortably could up to the front, where he was directed to sit on stool, and the hat placed upon his head. After a moment, the hat shouted "Ravenclaw!", and off the young boy happily went, to join his peers and hopefully melt once more into the crowd. After ten or so more instances of this, Erin heard her own name stated. Forcing her clenched fists into a relaxed stance, she walked calmly up to the front of the Hall, face burning as the students flutteringly resumed their whispers. She sat straight on the stool, her mind chanting, Gryffindor, Gryffindor…please?

"Hmmm… you very sure now? You may be more Ravenclaw material, but… well, on the other hand, that was some stunt you did just now! If you want it, it's all yours… GRYFFINDOR!"

All she could do was grin from ear to ear. Any booing or hisses from the Slytherin table were more than drowned out by the cheering of the Gryffindors as she joined her table, with a sudden deep appreciation for the colors red and gold. She found a place between Ron and Neville, ecstatic. Neville thumped her on the back, and Harry congratulated her on her bit of lighthearted satire of the royal family. ("I wish I'd've thought of that for when Malfoy bothers us!"). She flushed (even more) from their approval, her gaze wandering to the head of the teacher's table, where a bearded, wizened (she could tell just by looking at him) old wizard stood to a hush of obvious respect. 

"Students, I will try to restrict myself to a few brief announcements, but you all know how an old man can go on." Everyone laughed; even the Slytherins' smirks seemed good-natured. "Of course, a few to first-years… and a few of our students who may need a refresher: our groundskeeper Filch has kindly provided us with an updated version of prohibited activities, which all students should venture to read at some free time – they can be found on Mr. Filch's door… and down to the floor… and extending several feet down the hallway." There was the twitch of a repressed smile with these words, and the gleam in the old man's eye became a bit more noticeable. "The Forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students, as are magic between classes and running amok after curfew. Hogsmeade visits are only for third-years and beyond; no changes there. Next, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year… again. May I introduce Professor Lupin!" Students cheered as Lupin rose from his seat and gave a brief wave, then resumed his seat looking rather satisfied with the way things were going. "Lastly, we have a new student at Hogwarts this year who is somewhat unique," she sucked in her breath, forcing her glance away from the design on the tablecloth and up to meet those of her fellow students, her hand clutching Neville's under the table as she smiled serenely. "I expect you all to treat her as you would any other student… except for asking her help with your Transfiguration homework, of course," he attempted to lighten the mood, "She is here by special approval from the Ministry of Magic, and I'm certain she will get along famously. And now, without further ado… tuck in!"

The applause at Lupin's introduction was rather put to shame by the cheers at these words. Her eyes bulged in their sockets as, revealed as though the trick-wall in Frankenstein had been activated, a feast sprung up before her eyes! At her companions' obvious relish in tucking into their food (especially Ron, she noted), she hesitantly tasted the mashed potatoes that had seemingly materialized out of the air, adding subsequently to her plate some green beans and carrots, and a slice of warm bread. Her goblet was filled with an orangey liquid that tasted wonderfully like spices and pumpkin. Finding nothing wrong with what she had tried so far, she took the old man's advice.

"I think Dumbledore gets bolder every year." Hermione's tone was amused rather than disapproving. "Next year he'll be making jibes at the other Professors' expense!" That would be the funny old wizard, Erin realized, repeating the name in her head several times. She glanced over at Draco, who seemed a bit miffed. He met her eyes, and she flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Oh no!" at Neville's groan, she noticed a piece of paper in his hand. When she received one herself, she determined them to be schedules. Hers, she knew, would be far different than the other first-years'. In fact, the other students'. It listed Mondays as Flying first, then (double) Herbology, Potions, Astronomy, Divination, and, then… Potions again. She frowned until realizing that she must be taking multiple years of those courses for which she qualified, to make up for never taking Defense Against the Dark Art, Transfiguration, or Charms (or, of course, Muggle Studies). The other days were much like Mondays, rearranged and with Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic: A Condensed Course classes sprinkled in. She looked over her courses, imagining each, and trying not to be too blinded by the word "flying". Flying! She was going to get onto a broom, and just soar up into the air! She had imagined flying for as long as she could remember.

"Flying! Oh, wow! Ruddy magnificent! I'm going to FLY!!" her friends smiled at this display. "Oh, you don't understand; we can't do it in the Muggle world, but we have books where people do, and I've always wanted to! Oh, I can't believe it!" Hermione was looking at her, confused.

"You have books where people fly? On broomsticks?" Erin nodded. "Does that mean…"

"No, nobody thinks that it's actually possible. Maybe wizards long ago had contact with muggles or something, or maybe we just came up with it on our own. Hey, maybe witches and wizards got the idea from muggles!" Feeling a bit out-of-bounds with this last theory, she added, "I mean, you never know, right?" Hermione smiled reassuringly, and Erin focused on her food once more.

After dinner, she wandered with her friends up to a portrait of a rather… big-boned woman. "In aetatem novam," Harry said clearly -- to the portrait, she realized. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the woman in the portrait smiled kindly and a section of wall swung open; in they all walked to the Gryffindor common room. Erin, a little overwhelmed by the day, chose to go to bed early rather than stay downstairs and socialize. When she found her trunk at the foot of a bed, she decided it was fate and collapsed onto the mattress, not even bothering with pyjamas and barely taking the trouble to lift the covers and shove her legs under before dropping off.


	6. Chapter the Sixth

She woke up with the commotion of the age-mates dressing and getting presentable. Not one for cosmetics or any of that rubbish, she was content to pull on some fresh clothes and untangle her hair before heading downstairs for a bit of brekky, as Ringo put it in Yellow Submarine… she giggled.

            She had to force down her breakfast, she was so excited. Flying first period! She could barely believe her luck! Still in a daze when her friends left, she carried her broom out onto the field. She looked around; her class was all first-years and herself. She tried not to be embarrassed by this; after all, it wasn't like she'd been held back or anything. She heard a distant tap on glass, and turned. Ginny was in a window, giving her an exaggerated wave, and the thumbs-up sign. Erin waved back, comforted.

            A woman introducing herself as Madame Hooch instructed them to lay their brooms on the ground, and recite "accio broomstick!" until it flew into their hands. Not sure if this applied to her, she looked pleadingly at Madame Hooch. "What is… oh, the um… yes. Well, I don't imagine you should bother with this part; the spell really depends more on the magic in the rider than the magic in the broom." Erin bowed her head and nodded, trying to hide disappointment. "Hey," Madame Hooch gentled her tone, "Don't worry. This isn't the important part anyway." Erin smiled at the woman's friendliness, and nodded, feeling better. 

            "We're going to attempt to mount the brooms now; careful, everyone, you must be centered before putting your weight on the broom, or else-" but she didn't have to finish, as one of her pupils demonstrated for her, landing with a thump on the wet grass. Madame Hooch shook her head in disapproval. "Five points from Hufflepuff; you don't do it till I blow my whistle, Colville!" The students smiled nervously at each other. Hooch's whistle echoed shrilly, and several things happened.

            Someone called "Madame Hooch! It's urgent!" from a window, and Hooch took off with a warning. After this, several students attempted to mount their broomsticks without success, the worst case being Erin herself, who failed so spectacularly that she ended up drenched in dew and stained with mud. With Hooch having flown into that far-off classroom to investigate something or other (and, presumably, dismounted), one of the first-year Slytherins called out, "You're clumsy even for a muggle! How long did it take you to learn to walk; six years?" 

            "I must say," she smiled, "It's such a complex process, I don't know if I'll ever quite get it! Good thing I shan't need to when I learn to fly!" With this, she astonished herself by not only mounting her broom without incident, but taking off! 

            It was amazing! It was the most thrilling sensations she'd ever felt in her life; better even than a roller-coaster! She whooped, then did whatever she could think of; she went sideways, and even upside-down, flew complete circles, plunged almost to the ground, then turned up sharply, narrowly escaping being splattered, laughing with glee. She was euphoric! She was in heaven! She… heard a whistle.

            Regaining her senses, she gasped! Madame Hooch had obviously finished with whatever she had to take care of, and was glaring at her from the ground. The other students stared up at her, in shock. She gulped, and descended. She dismounted in front of Madame Hooch, mortified, and awaited her punishment.

            "Well, Miss Hightower, that was certainly an unnecessary display." She spoke, bitingly. Erin swallowed. "I think fifteen points from Gryffindor for that unwarranted outburst. However," she looked up, confused, "I can see that it would be a waste of your time to make you complete this course. Take this," she produced a quill and bit of parchment from her robes and hastily scribbled down a note, "to Dumbledore. He'll adjust your schedule accordingly. Scoot!" she commanded when Erin didn't move.

            Erin entered the building and headed for the common room, unsure of herself. Once there, she asked for assistance from those gathered. Ron had a free period, and so was there when she arrived. Since he was the only one she knew there, Erin was relieved when Ron volunteered.

            "After all," he told her, "I've been there plenty of times. Me and Harry, and Hermione are always getting sent there for doing things we aren't allowed." Far from being depressed by this, he seemed rather proud of the fact. Erin hid a smile. 

            "Like what?" was all she had to say to keep the conversation up until they got to Dumbledore's office. She reflected how passionate Ron was about the things he loved until what he said caught her attention – after that, she could only listen to his tales of adventure, exaggerated though she may have suspected some of them were, until they arrived. She smiled, then opened the—the—the door wouldn't budge! She glanced helplessly at Ron. He spoke the mysterious words "jumping jellies!" and the door opened. She entered, the tiniest bit nervous (as she had been almost constantly for the past twenty-four hours). Dumbledore, behind his desk, smiled in welcome.


	7. Chapter the Seventh

She mumbled "hullo" and handed him the note.

            "Mmmm!!" Whether in contemplation of the note or appreciation of whatever candy he'd just bitten into (Erin suspected strongly that it was a jumping jelly), Erin could not say. Dumbledore took another bite, then he offered her one, from a bowl. "I don't know why she didn't send you right to McGonagall straight off; I imagine the Professor will want to speak to you after this, anyway."

            "Wh-why?" Erin asked hesitantly.

            "Well, according to this," he waved the note around, getting a little jelly on it, "You are already quite the acrobat. Yes… rather impressive. A Hortak Spiral? Your first day? My girl, I think you've found your calling!" he glanced over at Erin, who glowed. "Now, you have an extra period. Yes, very good, now you have a bit of free time, eh? Unless you'd like to take Arithmancy?" She looked at him questioningly. "Studying ancient runes, and interpreting… no, that really is too much for one year." Erin tried not to look disappointed. "Have no fear; you can take it next year!" he chuckled. "This year, actually, I have been told to give you priority in Divination. Now, off to Minerva with you!" he handed her back the note. She smiled to herself as she left.

            "Ron!" she hadn't expected Ron to wait for her, but she was quite grateful that he had. "Say, I need to talk to McGonagall. Where is she, do you think?"

            Luckily, Ron knew; Ginny had a class with her. He sped her to the doorway, and then stopped. 

            "Well," he said breathlessly, "go on!" She opened the door. McGonagall was assigning homework, and suddenly Erin was a bit less unhappy that McGonagall taught a class Erin would never take. A foot long essay, their first day! As the other students were leaving, she approached McGonagall, and handed her the note.

            "Dumbledore said to show you this." She explained, more comfortable with a woman she knew. Minerva scanned the letter, then looked down at Erin.

            "My goodness, child!" she muttered, to herself it seemed. "A Hortak Spiral? My, my. I'll speak to Oliver at once. We could use a Chaser, I think… my goodn-… a Hortak Spiral!"

            Unfortunately, Erin had little time to spare, else she would be late for Herbology, but McGonagall patted her on the back, shook her hand, and had patted her head before Erin managed to escape. Herbology, taught by a stout, friendly woman who seemed perfectly placed as head of Hufflepuff, went fairly smoothly (they had to learn about the Hominifix seeds, which when mature secreted stuff that could be slapped on the skin and heal minor wounds, then planted them). Potions was much worse than she had thought; the Professor (Snape) held class in a dungeon, and his writing was so small that she nearly put in Grungin powder instead of a Griffin feather, only saved from doing this by Ginny, who was not her partner but was keeping an eye out. Snape seemed very nasty, but Erin couldn't help but wonder – he seemed so bitter, as if life had made him the way he was. She thought she'd forgive him if he bothered her (and, partway though class, she'd had her chance when Snape had made a rather nasty comment about muggles not belonging, and how she would've failed if it hadn't been for her friends). At least I have friends, she thought. Look at Snape. He barely seems to know the meaning of the word.

            "Honestly, I can't believe they still let him teach. All the things he says about Gryffindors…" muttered Ginny as they left. Erin thought it best not to say anything one way or the other. Someone snickered. Erin turned around.

            "My father thinks Snape is the only one here who's got it figured out. After all, who could possibly favor a house that lets in a muggle? She should be somewhere else leading a bland, magic-less existence, not here, associating with those above her kind." he sent her a withering glance.

            "Oh, I don't know if I'd say that," she plastered on a devilishly innocent smile. "I mean sure, Harry's famous, but Snape has said that fame isn't everything. I suppose the rest of us," she gave Malfoy's shoulder a sympathetic pat, pretending not to notice his flinch of revulsion, "can only strive to be like the Boy Who Lived. Don't worry," she gave him a be-brave smile. "I'm sure you'll get there eventually." She turned to her friends, murmuring about telling Harry, and how surprised he'd be.

            Not half as surprised as dumbfounded Draco. Malfoy looked furious and stormed off. Once he was gone, Ginny couldn't hold it in any longer, and gave a howl of laughter. Feeling utterly satisfied with herself, Erin indulged in a smirk of her own.


	8. Chapter the Eighth

Another class with Ginny next: Divination. Looking about for a door, she was perplexed by a ladder into what could only be the attic. She followed Ginny up, cursing wizard robes, and into a dim, rather incense-filled cupboard of a room. She locked eyes immediately with the woman who had to be Professor Trelawney. 

            She was not old, but not in the bloom of youth. A dress hung on her skinny figure, complemented with a strand of pears. Her make-up was unfortunately applied. Her eyes… deep blue eyes swirled when they met Erin's, and took on a violet cast. There was something in here eyes. This woman could… she could _see_, the woman could _know things, like… like Erin herself sometimes wondered if she did._

            "Oh!" Professor Trelawney might only have been speaking to herself, but Erin heard. Activity ceased as the other students became uncomfortably aware of the silent connection between their teacher and her newest pupil.

            So this was it! A muggle – why would they ever make exception for a muggle? But a seer… ah! That was something else altogether! She clenched her teeth – betrayal! She had spoken to them of truth, and they had not even respected her enough to give her the truth about herself! Her mouth twisted with bitterness, and she grabbed the sides and half-slid, half-jumped back down the ladder, into the hallway, landing in a feral crouch. She raised herself up with the fluidity of a panther, and stood still, breathing heavily, confused. Suddenly, she tore down the hallway towards the Gryffindor common room, then up into the girls' dorm. She collapsed onto her bed, still feeling more lost and angry than sad. She didn't cry. She lay on her stomach for a few minutes, clutching her pillow to her almost desperately, feeling as though it was she caught in the whirlpools of the seer's eyes. Of her own eyes...

            Hermione had been there when Erin came rushing through the common room. Deciding what to do at once, she followed the path of silence up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Erin lay on her cot shoulders heaving with exertion and emotion. Hermione's mouth opened slightly at the sight, but she approached nonetheless.

            "It's fine." Erin muttered, mostly to relieve Hermione of having to start the conversation. Even just saying it, helping out a friend, made her feel a bit better. As she calmed down, she even felt a strange kind of happiness, a sort of pride. "They didn't let me remember, let me come here because I convinced them of the sanctity of truth or anything. They let me in because of my eyes." She looked up at Hermione. "They mean I'm a seer, you know." Despite the gravity of this news, Erin's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "I guess I can see things in people. I suppose I could see how much of your brain was full up with spells and history and things before you even opened your mouth. It's ruddy impressive, it is, by the way." Poor Hermione, Erin thought. She had come prepared to be the strong one, and now Erin was spouting what sounded like utter nonsense and grinning like a fool. "Sorry to not be sad." She said, then couldn't contain a giggle at this any longer. "I was just kind of, surprised and, you know, confused." Obviously disconcerted, Hermione patted Erin on the back and said it was "quite alright."

            "I really should get back to class now." Erin shared this bit of information as it dawned on her. Hermione gave an affronted "of course!" and let her go, shaking her head in bewilderment.

            Erin hurried through the halls and made her way up the ladder for the second time that day feeling rather uncomfortable. Preoccupied, she slipped and almost didn't catch herself in time. She sighed longingly for her broomstick, then popped her head up into the stiflingly hot room, hoisting herself up to numerous looks of disapproval – not, however, Trelawney's. The educator did not have the means to remain both disapproving and shocked at once, and had opted for the latter. 

            "Mmm, er… what was your name again, dear?" Erin blinked.

           "Erin Hightower. I'm the, uh, the muggle." She added unnecessarily when a name felt inadequate. Trelawney nodded.

            "Yes, of course – I see now." She seemed to finally remember something. "I suppose that's why they didn't-" Erin nodded curtly, her lips in a grim line.

            "I suppose." She replied distastefully. At least, she thought, I'm not back… at home. "So, can this class actually… help, you know, develop it?"

            All at once, Trelawney was aflutter. "Oh my girl, my dear girl. The eye alone is not very useful, but with it you can be taught to read the leaves, discern the heavens, the uses of palmistry… why, interpretation grows more and more advanced until… until…" she seemed to forget her surroundings as she spoke, "All secrets are made plain!" her voice was lowered dramatically, almost a whisper. 

            This Erin had to doubt, but she admitted Trelawney struck a dramatic figure when she wanted to. In fact, Erin acknowledged, the term "drama queen" sprung readily to mind. Erin sighed. This lesson promised to be a long one.

            Two hours later, she could testify to the fact. If not for the woman's eyes, Erin would have had trouble with more than taking her seriously; Erin would have had trouble not openly deriding the old bat. However, since the woman obviously did possess some ability (no matter how infrequently it manifested), Erin could not disregard her altogether – though more and more, there seemed ample reason to. Erin was actually, after that idiotic couple of hours, beginning to wonder whether the inner eye really existed. She snorted at the thought. No, no, probably a momentary lapse in judgment, a moment of misplaced credulousness caused by her recent discovery of magic and introduction into the world in which it reigned. Although unable to dismiss it altogether, Erin did manage to put the issue to the back of her mind.


	9. Chapter the Ninth

"Hey Erin, do you really have the inner sight?" Neville asked. Many students seated around her at dinner chose that moment to glance over at the lovely centerpiece right by Erin's head. Erin hoped. But doubted. "I don't know, Nev. I mean, Trelawney believes it, but look what else the woman believes. Just because my eyes happen to be a particular color, doesn't mean there's anything special about me, right?" Hermione looked at Erin skeptically.  
  
"Oh, sure." Ron assured her, trying not to smile. "I mean, there must be loads of muggles walking around with deep violet eyes..." he turned to look her in the organs he had been describing, "eyes deep and mysterious as- -"  
  
Ginny cleared her throat rather loudly, and Ron looked startled. Erin suddenly noticed the intricacies in the terrain of her pudding, growing a little red in the face as she did so. Ron mustered a feeble smile and asked Hermione what their homework for charms was.  
  
"Oh honestly, Ron, I can't always be bailing you out, you know." Then Hermione's face reddened as well, as the ambiguity of her statement occurred to her. "...in school matters. I mean, you have to do your own work... homework! You have to do your own homework!" Those still following the conversation (Harry and Ginny; Neville was talking with Dean about the Slytherin offensive lineup) gaped at her. She made a face remarkably like McGonagall, and turned her attention back to her food.  
  
Harry grinned at Ginny "Well, what do you know. Even Hermione isn't completely clueless." Ginny smiled slyly back. Hermione sniffed, then, noticing Harry and Ginny's telltale look, tutted without really meaning it. Giving up conversation as a medium useless when lovey-dovey couples were around, she glanced at Harry's and Ginny's faces, and her mouth twitched. Her gaze settled on Ron, and she swallowed once and left.  
  
After dinner, Draco seemed to have decided to try his luck again.  
  
"So, muggle," she turned, acknowledging the greeting as legitimate rather than let it take on a pejorative meaning. "Trelawney's favorite, eh? Too bad you couldn't catch the eye of any decent teacher. You know, anyone who isn't a total nutter." Crabbe and Goyle, standing behind him, guffawed.  
  
"You're right Draco, as always. Maybe I should try being nice to my teachers instead of earning my grades." She chewed her lip, pretending to consider. "It seems to be working out well for you; thanks for the tip!" she added brightly. She walked past him, Ron chortling as he followed her.  
  
"Hah!" Ron said happily, once Malfoy was out of earshot. "I'll bet he wishes he could obliviate that one right out of history!" She frowned, turning to face him.  
  
"Obliviate? Is that a word?" Ron frowned.  
  
"Uh, it's a spell. A memory charm." Erin's face grew intense.  
  
"Is that what they use on muggles?"  
  
"Well, I don't know, there might be something more powerful, but probably, yeah. Why? You're still here, aren't you?" Erin let out her breath.  
  
"Yeah, you're right." She said. "Just sounded a little familiar, that's all. Déjà vu." She forced a smile.  
  
A/N: A review for this story... I think I'm dizzy. Truly, I've had quite a bit of this story written for some time, so I'll be adding chapters pretty much whenever I want for awhile. 


	10. Chapter the Tenth

Twenty uneventful days later, Erin breathed deeply, standing shoulder-to- shoulder facing the surprisingly daunting figure of Oliver Wood, lecturing them on what it meant to be on a Quidditch team, and commitment, and practicing, and probably a great many other things as well; Erin was not listening. Despite everyone's assurances that she had to get on (the tale of her Hortak Spiral during her first flying lesson has spread throughout the school; she wished she knew what one was so she could remember doing it specifically). She wasn't so sure this was in the bag, but her memories of McGonagall's reaction bolstered her confidence.  
  
When it was her turn, she mounted her broomstick as if she'd been doing it all her life, and rose a bit into the air, hovering above Wood and face-to-face with Angelina.  
  
"First, let's see your flying," he called up to her. She did a bit of fancy maneuvering for him, and everyone applauded. She grinned; she's been worrying for nothing.  
  
"Alright, good job!" he shouted. "Now, Angelina's going to throw the quaffle at you, and we're going to have one bludger going, okay? All you have to do is catch the quaffle and throw it back!" She nodded. Many things happened quickly.  
  
Angelina threw the quaffle, first of all. Erin lunged for it, and missed it utterly.  
Then the bludger came up hard on her shoulder, and Erin was too slow to avoid it. It struck, and Erin almost fell off her broomstick. She barely managed to land on her feet before her legs buckled, and she flopped onto the ground.  
  
Wood looked appalled. Erin, struggling to rise, could feel nothing but the burning shame that started her eyes watering no matter how hard she tried to stop. Assuming this was from the pain, Wood suggested she be brought to see Madame Pomfrey. Erin rose to her feet, and one of the other candidates who'd already gone held her up as they walked off the field. Erin felt the worst she could remember feeling. Pain she could deal with, belittlement or abuse... shame was something new. She felt sick. It was a sickness Madame Pomfrey could not cure.  
  
When they arrived, Pomfrey had efficiently cared for Erin's shoulder – no bones were broken, it would only be a nasty bruise (and less of one once Pomfrey had done smearing something foul-smelling on it and teaspooning a bit of greenish liquid into Erin's mouth). Erin rested for a few hours, and quietly left at nightfall (the soonest she was allowed to leave). Draco had come in with a scrape, but she was spared a confrontation, as Madame Pomfrey disinfected the wound and let Malfoy go; unaware of her presence, Malfoy took a moment to mutter to himself about "muggles" and "fix them soon enough; my father and I will be so pleased" before he left. Unwilling to face her fellow Gryffindors, she headed instead up, taking any staircases she came across until she emerged alone on a high tower, a solitary spire raised majestically into the night sky. She looked around her; this wasn't the infamous astronomy tower (no busy couples to be found).  
  
She'd finally been good at something. Hah! She should have known it was too good to be true. After all, hadn't she always been, well, worthless? Her mouth tightened as she acknowledged it. She'd been so full of herself. Well, nothing to be proud of now. She was just as clumsy and uncoordinated in the air as she was anywhere else. That had been made abundantly clear. She drew a shuddering breath. Resting her elbows on the crenulated wall, she stared down. This end of Hogwarts rested on a cliff, a spit of land jutting out over the lake, and the tower she had chosen was farthest out. She stared at water black in the darkness. It suited her mood exactly. The lake is black, she thought, and all my gifts have come to naught. She did the only thing she could think of: in a voice broken with tears, she sang.  
  
She didn't have words this time. She sang only for the song itself. She choked occasionally, trying not to cry, but they grew less and less frequent as the song grew more and more hauntingly familiar. She didn't have a very loud voice, but as more of her anxieties were lost in her song she stopped trying to sing quietly, and sang better for it. Forgetting completely about curfew, she suddenly leapt on her broomstick and flew almost straight down, until she was only a few feet from the water. She sped along its surface, strangely amazed as it rushed past her line of sight. Reaching the edge of the lake, she turned and flew sharply up, then tilted her broom almost vertical and spun, clutching the handle to her, high above the lake. Only as she closed her mouth did she realize she had still been singing the whole time. Feeling extremely embarrassed, she assured herself that at least this last bit of foolishness was private. Good lord, she muttered to herself, I ought to get a handle on myself. Still, she was barely concerned. As always happened whenever she allowed herself such freedom, everything seemed much better, and it was hard to get worked up, even in the direst of circumstances. Happy as a lark, she flew round to land at her dormitory window. As silently as she could because of the late hour, she dismounted and crept into bed.  
  
She had been wrong, though. A group of young Gryffindors on its way to find a newly patched-up friend, and a few Slytherins who'd had the fortune to be on the highest part of their dorm – the part reserved for the latest additions to illustrious wizard families – had heard; the group of Gryffindor students had even seen. They stared at each other as Erin sped away, still feeling the effects of that bewitching song. 


	11. Chapter the Eleventh

The next day was a bit awkward.  
  
By dinner, Erin simply couldn't understand why nobody would meet her eye, at first. Then she remembered her performance the previous afternoon, and her face burned. She had hoped they would not... well, nevermind what she had hoped. Her hope had obviously been misplaced.  
  
"Who... who do you think will make it?" she asked, not wanting to remember but needing to know.  
  
"Oh," Harry said distantly, "um, haven't really put much thought into it. Might just stick with last year's team, we worked pretty well." He didn't seem very concerned for being on the team. In fact, he didn't seem concerned for a student at Hogwarts. She glanced at him. He was clearly thinking about something else. She kicked herself as she realized what that must be.  
  
"Alright!" she nearly shouted. Heads turned, and she lowered her voice. "I know my tryout was horrible. It's no use pretending it never happened. So just... just rub it in my face, why don't you!" she realized with horror that she was near tears, and stopped to collect herself, breathing heavily and shielding her face with her hands. If she looked up, she would not have found derision, of course; she would have found puzzlement. As a matter of fact, a certain tune had been running through all their minds, eclipsing memories of her dismal attempt at the tryout.  
  
"What?" Ron asked tactlessly.  
  
"Oh come on. I know it was bad, and anyone would have dodged that bludger but me. I-"  
  
"What?" Ron could only repeat, frowning with confusion at the course of her thoughts. "Your... tryout? You're still on about that?"  
  
Luckily, this was the sort of situation in which tactlessness is entirely appropriate.  
  
"Well, I—I mean, of course, everyone – what?" She looked around her. "What's going on?"  
  
In an extraordinarily unfortunate combination of circumstances, the room went silent and none other than Draco Malfoy could be heard, whistling an unmistakable tune. Her mouth dropped open, and she turned scarlet and fled the room.  
  
"Oh." Ron said belatedly.  
  
There was an awkward moment.  
  
"Should we, you know, go after her?" They all looked at him. His eyes locked with Hermione, and he seemed strangely indecisive. "Well, I will." He finally declared, getting up after taking a few farewell mouthfuls of potatoes.  
  
He first checked the common room, which was really a rather silly thing to do, since students in any real distress go either to their dorm (somewhere prohibited to Ron) or some other private place. Naturally, Ron tried that tower next; there he met with success, if by success one means a good friend huddled against the wall crying.  
  
"Hi," he addressed her uncomfortably. When this elicited no response, he crouched beside her and tried again. "You have a really good voice." Unluckily, although this was a positive way of thinking about things, he'd only reminded her of why she was here in the first place.  
  
"Who heard?" issued hoarsely from between her chest and knees (where her face had ended up).  
  
"Not many people, I think. I guess Malfoy heard because of where his dorm is, but most Slytherins didn't, I don't think. Other than that, only Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and me, I guess."  
  
"You didn't... I mean, all you did was hear, right?"  
  
"Uh," Ron cleared his throat. "Not exactly." Erin gulped, and drew her knees in more tightly to her chest, cursing incoherently.  
  
"Erin, uh, I just wanted to say, ah, your voice is, um, really... something. When we heard you start, none of us could move until you'd finished, except to rush over to the nearest window." They both seemed a bit embarrassed at this. Erin winced at the memory. Ron's ears went a bit pink as he thought of her there, looking almost like a dancer with her broomstick, small and beautiful as the moonlight played on her face.  
  
(Ron was right about Erin not being visible from the Slytherin dorms, for the most part. The only ones who could have seen her were whoever had chanced to be on the balcony at that very moment, and right then there had only been one student out, enjoying a bit of much-needed privacy.)  
  
"What do you mean?" Erin uncurled a bit, cautiously.  
  
"It was like a spell, but it wasn't really a spell. It was just so, so beautiful..." Ron noticed unhappily how inarticulate he felt. Hope blossomed as Erin lifted her head to meet his eyes.  
  
"Thanks." She whispered, truly grateful. Without warning, Ron's eyes widened with surprise. He stood up, muttering under his breath.  
  
"I can't."  
  
Erin was stunned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I can't. I just realized. I know your eyes, and your voice, and your," he glanced at her figure and gulped "are really amazing, but I can't just—I, I think I'm in love with someone else."  
  
"Oh." Erin said forlornly. "Okay then. I understand." She forced a smile. Ron, his face bright with happiness, gave a regretful goodbye that could not dispel his excitement for long and scampered down the stairs to see Hermione. It was, of course, Hermione. Come to think of it, even on the train, they'd had a few moments – strange that Erin only now remembered them. She sighed. Well, perhaps true love was too much to expect her first month here. She'd keep on with her work and enjoy her friends. Even if the idea of Ron and Hermione going at it did bother her bit, which it did.  
  
It occurred to her that she wasn't heartbroken. She must not have liked Ron as much as she imagined she did. Of course, this was kind of a sour grapes situation, but really, she'd never had her heart set on Ron. Laughing a little at her own fickleness, she stood, enjoying the night.  
  
How strange – nothing but misfortune had befallen her since last night, but she felt so much happier after it all. Well, no, that wasn't true: Ron had seemed truly awed by her voice, and that was something good, after all. Yet, all that had really happened, not just been spoken, was that everyone had heard what was supposed to be a private vent of her feelings, and Ron had found he was in love with someone else. She should be more miserable than before, but things somehow seemed in perspective; things somehow seemed... right. She felt like, if she practiced, she could probably improve her coordination enough to play on the Gryffindor house team; that everyone seemed to like her voice; that maybe Ron admitting things now was for the best, instead of keeping them for later on and making it ugly. When she thought about it, all her misfortunes were more than canceled out merely by the new chance at a new life she had recently received. Her life before and after that summer was so different, because after, she realized, she was happy. Nobody here did anything worse to Erin than insult her -- as if she wasn't already impervious to that!  
  
She thought of Malfoy, of all people, whistling her song, and wasn't sure whether to giggle or vomit. She opted for the former. She wondered if it would plague him, if he would never be able to concentrate, if it would stay for months. She hoped so. Smiling to herself, she headed back down the stairs and into the castle. 


	12. Chapter the Twelfth

She reached the common room relatively quickly; she tended to memorize routes the first time she took them, and had little trouble with getting lost even in the ever-shifting corridors of the wizard school. Past the fat lady with a quick "batty bumblescrews" (she wasn't sure who came up with that one; it didn't seem very Percy-ish), she stood in the entrance to the common room, taking in the scene.  
  
Ron and Hermione she searched out first; they were in a corner with their heads together, and Ron's face was rather red as he mumbled things. Harry and Ginny sat next to each other on the couch, acting generally smitten; Neville attempted to enter their conversation unsuccessfully. Spotting Fred and George, Erin made a quick decision and headed over. They looked up at her in surprise as she approached.  
  
"Hey," she smiled, "Could I ask you guys something?" the mischief- makers nodded assent. "Could you help me, you know train? I don't really have any coordination to speak of." Fred and George looked at each other, and then shrugged.  
  
"Why not?" asked George rhetorically, adding under his breath "Can't get much worse." She grinned, nodding in self-deprecating agreement.  
  
As it turned out, Fred and George were, besides the Slytherin players, the best people she could've asked. Although they succeeded at first in holding back, it wasn't long before the temptation seized them to send errant bludgers in her direction without warning, and to play all sorts of nasty little tricks on her. Once, they even put a spell on the quaffle so it was repelled by contact with human hands; that one had been near impossible until she managed to wedge it between her upper arm and her side. The incident she was perhaps proudest of, though, was when, to dodge two bludgers coming from her right and her left (respectively), she'd done what the twins explained to her was called a "Backways Lever", involving pulling up the handle of one's broom like a lever until it was vertical, then more until you'd turned it another 90 degrees, and you had to hold onto the broom from underneath. That wasn't even the tricky part; the real coup de grace was when Erin had righted herself using the same move in reverse. They seemed particularly pleased after that practice; when she recounted the incident during dinner, a few Gryffindors saw fit to congratulate her. At the first game of the season, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, she was almost sure that she could've caught one of the passes that Hannah Abbot dropped. She kept up training, biding her time. As well, due to a dislike of Divination that she could not suppress, she was hoping for an opportunity to ask Dumbledore about something, and debated with herself when she should do it all week. Making up her mind on Friday afternoon, she approached his office after a particularly wearying Potions class.  
  
"Jumping jellies." She stated clearly. No response from the door. One of the gargoyles muttered something about keeping up-to-date, missy, but did not address her about it. Not very familiar with candies, she rattled off the few she'd heard of, to no avail. Things were looking pretty grim, and she would have left if not for the door opening in front of her at that very moment, McGonagall still exchanging last-minute words with Dumbledore.  
  
"don't know what it is, but they do have something under heavy guard, and I'm afraid it may be--" noticing Erin, McGonagall broke off, and cast Erin one of those looks so terrifying that only a career as a teacher can train one to do it so fearsomely. Erin averted her eyes, and walked past her into Dumbledore's office. When invited she had a seat, even partaking of the offered bowl of Cinnamon Snakes, then regretting it as her mouth began to feel blazing hot. She frantically accepted a cup of tea, which seemed to do the trick (although she spilled a bit in her haste).  
  
"Professor," she had to clear her throat before continuing; the cinnamon was still on its way down, "I've been meaning to ask you about something, something important."  
He fixed his attention on her politely.  
  
"They didn't let me stay on because I convinced them of the value of truth or anything, did they? I mean, I saw Trelawney, and with what you said about Divination I could kind of guess."  
  
Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "No, Miss Hightower, you have guessed correctly. The Ministry of Magic, although sympathetic to pleas such as yours, cannot heed them. If we were ever discovered..." he shook his head. "Violet eyes, however, are one of the surest signs of powerful mental power; usually, the inner sight. However," he glanced at her over his half- moon spectacles, "Professor Trelawney informs me that you doubt your abilities – indeed, that you do not appear to be taking her class very seriously at all. I discourage this kind of behavior, Miss Hightower, especially from you."  
  
"No, but that's just it!" Erin tried to control the rising panic evident in her voice. "I can tell things about people but just... just from looking at them, and seeing how they move, and what they're wearing and stuff. I can't do any of the things she expects me to be able to do in class; I can't prophesize any of the ways she's shown us so far!"  
  
Dumbledore's brow furrowed in thought. "Are you sure?" she nodded vigorously. "Oh... dear. Well, your abilities may not lie in the field of divination. Have you had any other experiences where you influenced someone, changed something, or even saw something out of the ordinary?"  
  
Erin started to shake her head, then remembered when Ron had come to talk to her. None of them could move, he said, until the song was over... and even Malfoy was whistling it; to her knowledge, he'd never done anything else half so normal...  
  
"When I," the circumstances suddenly occurred to her, and she blushed, but continued, "After I'd muddled my quidditch tryout, I went somewhere I thought was private, and I, I um, sang. After, I found out my friends from Gryffindor had heard, and Ron said he was kind of, I guess entranced by it. Even Malfoy was whistling it the next day, and I've never known him to whistle before." She looked up. Dumbledore was regarding her thoughtfully.  
  
"That does sound very much like... cantamagi are less common, much less common, their gifts can be so dangerous..."  
  
"I'm a cantamagus? Does that mean I can perform magic through song?"  
  
Dumbledore glanced up at her sharply. "Latin student?" She nodded. "Well, before making any assumptions, would you mind getting me so happy that I leap onto my desk and dance for joy?" Amazingly, Dumbledore seemed serious. She blinked a few times and assented. Tensing, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine Dumbledore dancing a jig on his desk, and would have giggled had the situation not been so solemn – instead, she did the next closest thing. She opened her mouth, and sang the first thing that came out: a wordless tune bursting with joy, a celebration she could feel all through her body, no divine content but rather an almost immature delight, the comedy ecstasy. After a moment, she stopped, hearing a sound she had never heard before, but – she opened her eyes. Dumbledore was clutching his stomache, laughing so hard she wondered if he might have a stroke. He drew a deep breath and looked up at her, his eyes filling with childlike glee, then collapsed into giggles once again. After a moment, he managed to calm himself sufficiently to trade giggles for mere chuckles; then, finally, he stopped. Taking a few deep breaths to collect himself, he settled again in his chair and faced her.  
  
"Yes, I believe you are a cantamagus, a songmage, although what you are doing isn't drawing from magic within you, like a spell, but changing the world around you – like the difference between magicking a plant to force it to grow and simply exposing it to more sunlight. Now, this voice of yours is a powerful means of suggestion. It can influence others to feel certain emotions, or to do what you want; that night, your song of loneliness must have drawn them to you. It can stay with a person, even eventually drive them insane." Erin's face paled with shock. "Yes, the responsibility is a heavy one. What you have is a dangerous gift. I am counting on you," he paused, staring directly into her eyes, "not to use your gift of persuasion on your fellow students or anyone else here at Hogwarts. You may find it handy in herbology, though," he added with a smile. She gave a questioning look. "When you want to, you can find the tune within you to help your plants grow, to speed them on their way -- even, later in life, manipulate forces of nature, such as sunshine or wind – very slightly."  
  
Erin's mouth hung open.  
  
"Congratulations," he said softly, "You are more than qualified to be here." 


	13. Chapter the Thirteenth

She rushed back to the common room, still in a state of shock, panic and euphoria battling within her. She did what any teenager would do in times of confusion; she confided in her friends.  
  
She ran up to the five on the couch, almost skidding to a halt. They stared in confusion at the girl in front of them, working her jaw desperately in an attempt to speak.  
  
"What?!" Neville seemed alarmed.  
  
"I just found out... you guys were there, do you remember when I sang, and you all felt, well Ron said you felt," it had just occurred to her that perhaps not everyone had reacted the same way as Ron, --  
  
"Yeah, we were all frozen, and we wanted to go stay with you, and never leave." From Neville. She nodded.  
  
"Well that's because I'm," she paused to get herself under control, "I'm a cantamagus!" Harry, Ron, Neville and Ginny looked at her blankly. Hermione's eyes bulged as if she were too full of air, and was about to explode.  
  
"A songmage!" she exclaimed, finding her voice. Erin nodded in excitement.  
  
"That's why you wanted to stay with me: I was feeling lonely, and my song was a plea for comfort, and I made you stay! The song wouldn't let you leave! That's what a cantamagus does!" Now everyone else was as stunned as Hermione. "That's why even Draco couldn't help but whistle it!" she added unnecessarily.  
  
As was only natural when in need of an explanation, all heads turned to Hermione, and she was forced to recover first.  
  
"A cantamagus doesn't use magic. He builds upon the influence music has on the emotions, fine-tuning it to such a degree that he can actually make the listener respond with a desired action. Every form of life, even some things we don't think of as life, feels the impact of sound. A cantamagus can manipulate all of this. What they do is stronger and more widely applicable than the Imperius curse because, rather than forcing the subject to perform a task, it merely convinces them that doing that task is what they should do, or want to do." Hermione paused, and seemed to hesitate before adding, "I didn't even know they actually existed." More horrible silence. Neville's brow furrowed in thought for a moment.  
  
"Wow." He said slowly, shaking his head.  
  
A/N: Very short, particularly after chapter twelve, but I cut them by scene, so there.  
  
Disclaimer (since I forgot until now): No, I only *wish* I were making money off of this. 


	14. Chapter the Fourteenth

A few very strange things happened.  
  
First, Erin's newfound ability remained a secret, excepting her Gryffindor gang. In a school like Hogwarts – in fact, in a school – rumours are the black market; the vicarious thrills that make a horrid class seem bearable, the malicious pleasures that soothe one's own defeats, the strange sort of bonding that comes from a good, old-fashioned gossip session. That nobody had overheard but Erin's loyal friends was the only possible explanation, as unlikely as it seemed. The common rooms were hardly ever the domain of a single clique, and the echoing halls seemed made for eavesdropping. Erin had unnecessary irrefutable proof of the fidelity of her group, free as she was to walk the halls without the paranoia-inducing whispers at her back.  
  
Secondly, Draco, for the first time ever, bothered changing tactics.  
  
Expecting an encounter like any other, Erin had her special brand of intimidating cheer ready when he sought her out as they left Potions.  
  
Making some allegedly witty remark to a few of his sneering cronies, Draco's voice grew suspiciously loud as he finished, "Unfortunately, that poor muggle gets failure out of her system the only way she knows how – by making quite the fool of herself, I'm afraid. Someone really ought to tell her how many people heard – and saw – something I'm sure she'll do somewhere private from now on."  
  
In an instant, Erin's mind was off as clearly as if a shot had sounded. Draco knew? She knew he'd heard, but she hadn't known he'd seen as well. Erin was repelled by the thought. He'd seen, and he said many others had, too! Slytherins? Well, he had to have been with them to know they'd seen and heard. If they really had seen and heard. Then again, if Draco had heard, then who knows who else may have? Erin's face was passive as thoughts rushed through her head. She needed a reply, quickly!  
  
"Draco, I'm proud of you! You were very creative, dear! And so concerned about my privacy as well – Draco, you're not really the bully you're made out to be, are you? Good job!" she smiled fondly at him. She knew this wasn't an outright success – she had ignored the real issue of Draco having seen, and who knows who else – but it was the best she could come up with. Malfoy didn't seem as upset as he usually did; the Gryffindors present did not gloat quite so much. Oh, well. At least it was something.  
  
As the rest of the students headed off toward lunch, Erin was detained from following them by her collar, which seemed to have caught on something. She turned. Malfoy had grabbed her cloak.  
  
"Draco, I've always thought our pleasant conversation was enough, but if you want to take it further--"  
  
"Listen!" he pulled her into one of the small nooks in the hall. "I don't understand it, but that song of yours hasn't left me alone for a week and a half! If you don't stop it..." he glared at her menacingly. Despite herself, Erin bit the inside of her cheek with real fear. Not (well, not so much) at Draco, but at a memory from that day in Dumbledore's office – he said the song could linger, even eventually driving the target insane. Her face went almost white.  
  
Dumbledore had asked her not to use her voice on anyone at Hogwarts. Yet logic told her there was no other way to solve this serious problem. She simply had to. Even with her dislike of him, she could hardly let Malfoy be driven insane! She nodded.  
  
"Meet me at the tower tonight."  
  
"No," he shook his head, "Not private enough." She winced; he ignored it. "Fly to the edge of the Dark Forest – eight o'clock."  
  
"Don't other people meet there?" It seemed to Erin like everyone was always scheduling their rendezvous' for the mislabeled wood; it had certain notoriety.  
  
"Not tonight." Draco gave a pleased smirk. "I made sure." She sighed once in resignation, and then nodded. Draco met her eyes and narrowed his own, an unspoken threat. She hurried off, catching up to her friends, who all were talking about Gryffindor's first match (it would be in a few days) against, who else, Slytherin. Having attended only one match herself, Erin found it hard to muster up enough enthusiasm to block out her feelings about her appointment that night.  
  
After several hours of classes and a total of perhaps thirty seconds of attentiveness, it was all Erin could do to bother even with the relatively dramatic turns her companions' romances had taken: something about Harry saying the wrong thing, Hermione calling him gauche, then shouting at everyone for not knowing the meaning of the word (she was sulking all through dinner, distracting herself from her predicament by muttering about house elves, which further infuriated Ron). Aaah, sweet amour, Erin though idly, too preoccupied with anticipating (in fact, dreading) her meeting with Draco to give these issues the unmerited attention everyone needed from her.  
  
She had wondered what it would be like, hoped and given up hope, and questioned this and started up again... She was also agonizing over the tune. She had been lucky so far, it had come right out of her, but in front of Draco it was hard to be spontaneously creative. She had worked on something to while away a double period of History of Magic. Erin had never before met someone who did not notice that his only student was staring dreamily out the window, humming to herself; Binns was certainly exceptional in that respect. She had even found she could use his monotonous voice as a sort of metronome.  
  
At seven-forty, Erin went upstairs to the dormitory, fished around under her bed and retrieved her broom, and then stood at the window and mounted, flying off as quickly and (she hoped) inconspicuously as possible.  
  
Erin looked for Draco at the edge of the forest. Right on cue, he was nowhere to be found. Putting her public school vocabulary to good use, Erin realized he'd probably meant actually in the forest. She walked in, trying not to start at every noise, quietly calling his name. She had to work to keep her calls from becoming cries of panic. She clutched her broom to her, knuckles white with the strain. She kept all other outward signs of fear from showing themselves, mostly out of stubbornness. Instead, she attempted disgust and, when that didn't work, irritation.  
  
A/N: Chapter length = back to normal. 


	15. Chapter the Fifteenth

It occurred to her that, if Draco were in the vicinity, he must have heard her calling by now. He was probably lurking in the shadows, watching her show of stoic bravery and knowing it for what it really was: fear. In the darkness, memories overwhelmed her, she was in a closet, she couldn't escape, and now there were hands and hot breathing— She clenched her teeth, shuddering with disgust. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her arm, and sort of jumped and bent into a shielded fetal position simultaneously. As soon as she had put two and two together, she stood up, feeling rather embarrassed. As she turned to face Draco, it became increasingly difficult to keep her malicious dimple-cheeked smile pinned on her face. Finally, she simply gave it up, and looked at him solemnly.  
  
Draco looked like he was made for the night. His whole body was silvery, from his pale skin to his shining hair.  
  
Oddly, one could have said the same for her. Her own fair skin took on the ethereal cast of the anonymous visitor in a dream. Her absolute- black hair only enhanced this, and her oceans-deep purple eyes sent tingles down the spine.  
  
Draco gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, and she returned it. He attempted to assume command with a frustrated "get on with it" and she ignored him.  
  
She found she had forgotten her pre-made melody. Accepting the foolishness of trying to map it out ahead of time, she did what she was best at: she took a breath and sang.  
  
For the most part, her song was a soothing one (song-exorcism did not seem to be the proper approach). There were moments when it was almost a lullaby, and times when it seemed to fade into the indigenous sound, an atonal yet undeniably melodic hum that spun farther and farther away, ending only in oblivion. When her voice faded, the silence seemed only an extension. After a polite pause, during which Draco remained perfectly still with a semi-somnolent smile, Erin gave up with manners (this was Malfoy, after all) and jabbed him in the chest with her fingernail. His trance left him, and he jumped.  
  
"Thanks," he said dreamily (for a Malfoy). Erin felt obligated to hold him as he began to wander off. At the constraining touch of her hand on his arm, he came fully to his senses. Well, to his usual state of mind, at any rate, she corrected herself. "Senses" might be overstating it a bit.  
  
"Remove your hand at once." His tone was not very icy, though. Erin smiled to herself and obeyed, allowing herself to smile genuinely at him for the first time.  
  
"I don't owe you anything." Neither could he summon a particularly scathing tone for this last assertion. "It was your fault that song was in my head in the first place.  
  
Erin nodded agreeably. "Don't tell anyone," she cautioned, not very emphatically. "Oh, and I can't do that again; I'm not allowed. I only risked it this time because if I hadn't, it's very likely it would have eventually driven you completely bonkers." Her easiness was making her rather blunt, it seemed.  
  
Draco looked shocked at this; even, what she knew to be an entirely new configuration for his facial features, grateful. And upset, although he tried to hide it.  
  
"I don't think that one had tune you'd be able to remember, so I guess you're safe. She mounted her broom, and kicked off, giving him an absentminded smile as she wove her way through tree branches and up, out, into the free air above, waving blindly to the treetops above where he'd been.  
  
He could still see her. He stopped himself from waving back. 


End file.
